Chapter 5 Becoming Home
Everyday Comfort
By the time the Thunderhawks returned from their first road trip, the condo no longer felt like temporary housing.
At least, not to Mason.
His hockey bags still rested against the same wall near the front door.
Noah's running shoes remained neatly aligned beside the entrance while Mason's sneakers usually ended up somewhere within a five-foot radius of the shoe rack.
The refrigerator held food they had chosen together rather than the welcome groceries management had stocked weeks earlier, and the living room carried the comfortable signs of two people settling into shared routines instead of simply occupying the same space.
Without either of them realizing it, the condo had slowly begun to feel lived in.
The morning after they returned, Mason dragged himself out of bed expecting the usual post-travel exhaustion that always lingered after long road trips.
Instead, he found fresh coffee waiting.
Again.
Noah stood at the stove flipping blueberry pancakes while soft music played from a speaker on the kitchen counter.
"You know," Mason said as he accepted the mug Noah handed him, "I'm starting to think you're trying to spoil me."
"I thought I was feeding you."
"Same thing."
Noah smiled without looking up from the pan.
"If I stop making breakfast, you'll probably survive."
"I don't know."
"You survived before we became roommates."
"Barely."
"I find that hard to believe."
"You weren't there."
Noah slid a stack of pancakes onto a plate before placing fresh fruit beside them.
"I wasn't aware your previous breakfasts were life-threatening."
"They weren't life-threatening."
"They were depressing."
That earned a laugh.
"You make it sound like I lived on instant noodles."
"You practically admitted you did."
"I also had cereal."
"Very impressive."
Mason grinned as he reached for the maple syrup.
"I've become much more sophisticated."
"Because someone else cooks."
"I'm choosing not to answer that."
Breakfast stretched longer than usual because neither of them had anywhere urgent to be. Coach Morrison had rewarded the team with a rare morning off after their successful road trip before afternoon recovery sessions.
It felt strange.
Professional hockey schedules rarely allowed time to slow down.
Today, however, there was nowhere to rush.
Noah eventually looked toward the refrigerator.
"We're almost out of groceries."
Mason followed his gaze.
"We bought all that food last week."
"We also ate it."
"I suppose that's how groceries work."
"We should probably go before the afternoon skate."
Mason finished the last bite of pancake.
"I'll drive."
"You remember where the grocery store is?"
"I've only gotten lost twice."
"Three times."
"The third one wasn't technically getting lost."
"You ended up in another town."
"I found my way back."
"Eventually."
Half an hour later they wandered through the neighborhood supermarket pushing an almost-empty cart.
Shopping with Noah had somehow become one of Mason's favorite parts of the week.
That realization surprised him.
A month ago he considered grocery stores nothing more than another chore squeezed between practices and games. He rushed through the aisles grabbing whatever looked healthy enough before escaping as quickly as possible.
Now he found himself slowing down.
Noah insisted on comparing nutrition labels.
He somehow knew which vegetables were freshest.
He could choose ripe avocados simply by picking them up.
Mason remained convinced it was some kind of supernatural ability.
"You squeezed three of them already," Mason observed.
"I'm checking them."
"They're avocados."
"They're expensive avocados."
"So?"
"I don't want to buy rocks."
Mason picked up another one.
"This one looks fine."
Noah gently took it from his hand before placing it back.
"It'll be ready sometime next week."
"How do you know that?"
"Experience."
"I still think you're guessing."
"I've been cooking longer than you've been shaving."
"That's a little insulting."
"It's probably true."
Mason laughed before steering the cart toward the produce section.
"You know what I don't understand?"
"What?"
"How you enjoy this."
"Grocery shopping?"
"Yeah."
Noah considered the question while selecting tomatoes.
"I think it's because nobody's rushing."
"What do you mean?"
"Hockey is always fast."
He placed the tomatoes carefully into a paper bag.
"Practice."
"Games."
"Travel."
"Meetings."
"Everything runs on a schedule."
He looked around the quiet store.
"But here..."
"We've got time."
Mason hadn't thought about it that way.
He looked around.
Families wandered between aisles.
An elderly couple debated cereal brands.
A father patiently explained the difference between apples to his curious daughter.
Nobody hurried.
Nobody cared about scores or standings.
For a little while, they were simply two ordinary people buying groceries.
He unexpectedly liked that feeling.
Their shopping cart gradually filled with chicken, vegetables, pasta, fresh herbs, fruit, yogurt, eggs, coffee beans, and far more snacks than Noah claimed they needed.
Mason quietly added a package of chocolate chip cookies while Noah wasn't looking.
Unfortunately, Noah noticed immediately.
"You know I saw that."
"They were on sale."
"They're always on sale."
"So?"
"So that's how they convince you."
Mason placed the cookies more firmly into the cart.
"I refuse to be manipulated."
"You literally bought them."
"I manipulated them."
Noah shook his head.
"I'm not even going to argue."
"You've learned."
"I've surrendered."
By the time they reached the checkout, the cashier greeted them with a smile.
"Back again?"
Noah nodded.
"Looks like it."
She scanned their groceries before looking between them.
"You two cook a lot."
Mason answered first.
"He cooks."
"I mostly eat."
The cashier laughed.
"Sounds like a fair arrangement."
"It works."
Walking back toward the condo beneath the warm afternoon sun, Mason carried the heavier grocery bags despite Noah insisting they split the weight evenly.
"I can carry my own."
"I know."
"So why are you carrying everything?"
"Because I'm stronger."
"You wish."
"I scored two goals last week."
"That has absolutely nothing to do with grocery bags."
"It proves athletic superiority."
"It proves you're good at hockey."
"Exactly."
"I've created a monster."
"You definitely have."
The automatic doors slid open as they entered the building.
The concierge looked up from his desk.
"Successful shopping trip?"
Mason lifted one of the grocery bags.
"We survived."
"Barely," Noah added.
"I bought cookies."
"I know."
"I regret nothing."
The concierge chuckled as the elevator doors closed.
Back inside the condo, they unpacked groceries together.
Without discussing it, Mason carried refrigerated items toward Noah while Noah arranged them neatly inside the refrigerator.
It happened naturally.
Almost automatically.
Mason stopped halfway through putting away vegetables.
"We're getting efficient."
"We've had practice."
"Not just with hockey."
Noah looked toward him.
"No."
"I guess not."
The afternoon recovery skate passed quickly before both men returned home tired and hungry.
As soon as they stepped inside, Noah disappeared into the kitchen.
"What are we making?"
Mason asked while changing into comfortable clothes.
"Lemon garlic pasta."
"Can I help?"
Noah smiled.
"You volunteering?"
"I know."
"You should probably write this down."
"I'm framing the calendar."
Mason rolled his eyes before washing his hands.
"What do I do?"
"Slice the mushrooms."
"I can handle that."
"And don't lose any fingers."
"No pressure."
The kitchen quickly filled with the familiar rhythm they had unknowingly created over the past several weeks.
Water boiled.
Garlic sizzled in olive oil.
Mason chopped vegetables while Noah prepared the sauce.
They bumped shoulders more than once while reaching for ingredients, each quietly stepping aside before the other could apologize.
Neither seemed to mind.
"So," Mason said while slicing another mushroom.
"My sister texted today."
Noah looked over.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah."
"She wants me home for Thanksgiving."
"That's good."
"I haven't decided."
"You usually go?"
"Most years."
Mason shrugged.
"Things are...different now."
Noah understood without asking for more.
Instead, he stirred the sauce thoughtfully.
"They're still your family."
"I know."
"It doesn't have to be perfect."
Mason nodded slowly.
"You always know the right thing to say."
"I definitely don't."
"You make it sound easy."
"I've just made enough mistakes to know what not to say."
That answer stayed with Mason as they continued cooking.
The conversation drifted toward favorite holiday meals, embarrassing childhood stories, and Tyler's questionable belief that ketchup belonged on everything.
At one point Noah laughed so hard at one of Mason's stories that he nearly dropped the wooden spoon he was holding.
The sound caught Mason completely off guard.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
Just warm.
Genuine.
His eyes instinctively lifted toward Noah.
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, catching the easy smile spreading across Noah's face.
For a brief second, everything else seemed to fade.
The simmering sauce.
The music playing quietly in the background.
Even the knife still resting loosely in Mason's hand.
He simply watched Noah smile.
There was something unexpectedly peaceful about it.
Comfortable.
The realization lingered just long enough for Noah to glance up.
"You okay?"
Mason blinked.
"What?"
"You stopped cutting vegetables."
He looked down.
The mushroom remained untouched beneath the knife.
"Oh."
He cleared his throat.
"Yeah."
"Just thinking."
"About?"
Mason quickly looked away and resumed chopping.
"Nothing."
Noah accepted the answer without questioning it further, turning back toward the stove.
Mason focused very carefully on the cutting board.
Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn't quite explain why Noah's smile remained stubbornly fixed in his thoughts long after he had looked away.
The Lucky Puck